{"id":5231,"date":"2010-07-17T04:21:12","date_gmt":"2010-07-17T09:21:12","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=5231"},"modified":"2010-07-16T16:27:48","modified_gmt":"2010-07-16T21:27:48","slug":"nightshade-by-ronie-kendig-first-blog-tours","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=5231","title":{"rendered":"Nightshade by Ronie Kendig – FIRST Blog Tours"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Ronie Kendig<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Nightshade <\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (July 1, 2010)<\/p>\n

***Special thanks to Camy Tang and Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Ronie Kendig grew up an Army brat, married a veteran, and they now have four children and a Golden Retriever. She has a BS in Psychology, speaks to various groups, volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and mentors new writers.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a> and her book website,<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n<\/embed><\/object>\n<\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $12.99
\n Paperback: 368 pages
\n Publisher: Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (July 1, 2010)
\n Language: English
\n ISBN-10: 160260777X
\n ISBN-13: 978-1602607774<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Prologue<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Crazy lights swirled against the evening sky. Day morphed into the merriment of night. Cotton candy and hot dogs. Teens decked out in Goth gear contrasted sharply with young couples dragged from ride to ride by squealing offspring. White smeared over a man\u2019s face as red encircled his mouth. Like a giant maraschino cherry, his nose squawked when a child squeezed it. He threw his head back and laughed. The little boy stood perplexed, as if uncertain whether to laugh or break into tears.<\/p>\n

Olin Lambert shifted on the park bench as a parade of kids trailed the balloon-toting clown through the park. He glanced at his watch. His contact was la\u2014<\/p>\n

The boards under his legs creaked. A man dressed in a navy jogging suit joined him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou almost missed the fun.\u201d Olin tossed a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth.<\/p>\n

Rolling his shoulders, the man darted his gaze around the carnival insanity. \u201cYou know how dangerous this is? What it took for me to get out here without being seen?\u201d<\/p>\n

The danger and risk to his contact were no greater than what was stacked up against Olin. They both had a lot to lose\u2014careers, reputations, families. . . . \u201cWe could leave now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know this has to happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

After a sip of his diet cola, Olin stuffed the half-full bag of popcorn on top of the overflowing trash bin. He wiped his hands and turned back to the man. \u201cSo, the body count\u2019s finally high enough?\u201d<\/p>\n

Blue eyes narrowed. \u201cI\u2019m here. That should tell you something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed.\u201d Olin waited as the ice cream vendor wheeled his musical cart past. \u201cI need full autonomy for me and my team.\u201d<\/p>\n

Music burst forth as swings whirled occupants in a monotonous circle. A performer tossed flaming sticks and maneuvered one down his throat, swallowing the flames. Ohs wafted on the noisy, hot wind from the audience gathered around him. A scream pierced the night\u2014a woman startled by another clown.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, fine. Just get on with this. I\u2019m a sitting duck out here.\u201d He rubbed his hands and glanced around.<\/p>\n

Olin swiped his tongue along his teeth, took a draught of his soda, then slumped back against the slats. \u201cI want it in writing. Two copies. Mine. Yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man shook his head. \u201cNo trails.\u201d<\/p>\n

The corner of Olin\u2019s mouth quirked up. \u201cYou\u2019ve already got one.\u201d He nodded to the ice cream vendor, who reached over the register and tapped a sign with a hole in the center where a camera hid.<\/p>\n

A curse hissed through the night. \u201cYou\u2019d bleed me out if you could.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever it takes to protect these men.\u201d<\/p>\n

Eyeing him, the man hesitated. \u201cThe men? Or you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne and the same. If they\u2019re protected, I\u2019m protected. Whatever happens out there, we\u2019re not going to take the fall for it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it goes bad, someone will get blamed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Olin pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. \u201cMore dust has been swept under the proverbial Capitol Hill carpet than anyone will ever admit. You have to decide: Is the cost high enough? How many more lives are you willing to sacrifice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven.\u201d<\/p>\n

On his feet, Olin tugged up the hood of his jacket. \u201cThen we\u2019re through.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man caught his elbow. \u201cSit down.\u201d<\/p>\n

Teeth clamped, Olin returned to the bench. He bent forward and rubbed his hands together, more than ready to forget he\u2019d ever tried to deal with this man, the only man with enough power on the Hill and the right connections to both fund and authorize deep-six missions. Missions nobody wanted to acknowledge.<\/p>\n

The din of merriment swallowed the silence between them. A beat cop worked the scene, glancing their way as he walked, no doubt making a mental note to watch them.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet me their names. I\u2019ll write a carte blanche.\u201d<\/p>\n

Olin\u2019s gut twisted. \u201cNot happening.\u201d If he revealed the names of his elite, he would essentially place them on individual crosses to be crucified by some politician who got wind of this or by someone far more dangerous\u2014media\u2014if something went south. \u201cProject Overlook happens under my guidance with all the freedom and resources I need, or it doesn\u2019t happen and you have one heckuva mess to clean up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I do this, I could get put away for a long time, Lambert.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a million people will die if you don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should sit back and let Congress grant the authorization to go in there.\u201d<\/p>\n

A deep-chested laugh wormed through Olin. \u201cYou\u2019ve been around too long to believe that. Thick bellies and big heads crowd the halls of the Hill. They want the power and none of the responsibility.\u201d Had he been wrong in talking to the man next to him? What if he went to the Hill and spilled the news about Project Overlook? They\u2019d be dead before the elite soldiers he had in mind could get their feet wet.<\/p>\n

He let out a long exhale. \u201cIf you aren\u2019t going to pony up, this conversation is over. You contacted me because you knew I could take care of this little snafu. So let us go in and quell this before it destroys more and the body count rivals 9\/11.\u201d<\/p>\n

He eyed Olin, a slow grin cracking his lips. \u201cYou\u2019ve always impressed me, Lambert, even though you\u2019re Army.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNavy lost the last game, Admiral.\u201d Olin let his gaze rake the scene around him. \u201cThese men are fully capable, and the situation can be tamed before anyone is the wiser. We don\u2019t have time to wrangle the pundits. Let\u2019s get it done, Mr. Chairman, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chairman Orr stood and zipped his jacket. \u201cYou\u2019ll have it by morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter 1<\/p>\n

Cracking open the throttle ignited a wild explosion of power and speed. Zero to sixty in less than three seconds left Max Jacobs breathless. Gut pressed to the spine of his Hayabusa, he bore down the mountainous two-lane road away from civilization, away from . . . everything. Here only pine trees, concrete and speed were his friends.<\/p>\n

His bike screamed as it ate up the road. The thrill burst through him. He needed the rush. Craved it. Stop running, Max. Her words stabbed his conscience. Made him mad.<\/p>\n

Rounding a bend, he slowed and sighted the drop-off in the road\u2014remembered a full 10% grade, straight down. His gaze bounced between the speedometer and the cement. Common sense told him to decelerate. The boiling in his veins said otherwise.<\/p>\n

He twisted the throttle.<\/p>\n

Eighty.<\/p>\n

Max leaned into the bike and felt the surge.<\/p>\n

Ninety.<\/p>\n

He sucked in a breath as he sped toward the break.<\/p>\n

The road dropped off. The Hayabusa roared as the wheels sailed out. He tried to grip the handlebars tighter as nothing but tingling Virginia oxygen enveloped him. Silence gaped.<\/p>\n

This could be it. This could end it all. No more pain. No more life without Syd . . .<\/p>\n

Take me. Just take me.<\/p>\n

The Hayabusa plummeted.<\/p>\n

Straight down. Concrete. Like a meteor slamming to earth.<\/p>\n

The back tire hit. A jolt shot through the bike. Then the front tire bounced. Rattling carried through the handlebars and into his shoulders. He grabbed the brake\u2014<\/p>\n

Stupid! The brake locked. Rear tire went right. He tried to steer into the skid but momentum flipped him up. Over. Pops snapped through his back as he spiraled through the air. In the chaos his bike gave chase, kicking and screaming as it tore after him.<\/p>\n

Crack! Pop! The sound of his crashing bike reverberated through the lonely country lane. Scenery whirled. Pine trees whipped into a Christmas-color frosting. Tree bark blurred into a menagerie of browns, drawing closer and closer.<\/p>\n

Thud! His head bounced off the cement. He flipped again.<\/p>\n

Finally. It\u2019d be over. He closed his eyes. No more\u2014<\/p>\n

THUD! \u201cOof.\u201d The breath knocked from his lungs. Pain spiked his shoulders and spine. Fire lit across his limbs and back as he slid from one lane to another. Down the road, spinning. Straight toward the trees.<\/p>\n

He winced, arched his back. Kicking, he tried to gain traction. If he wasn\u2019t going to die, he didn\u2019t want to end up paralyzed. Just like you not to think it through.<\/p>\n

He dumped into a ditch.<\/p>\n

Smack!<\/p>\n

Everything went black.<\/p>\n

He blinked. Pain shrieked through his body, his thighs and shoulders burning. \u201cArgh!\u201d<\/p>\n

Max pried himself onto all fours, hanging his head. A crack rent the face shield. A wicked throb pulsed through his temples and . . . everywhere. He fought with the helmet. Growled as he freed the straps. He pawed it off, cursing at the thing for saving his life. Those head whacks as he somersaulted through the air should\u2019ve punched a hole in his skull. Warmth dribbled down his brow. He pressed a palm against his forehead. Sticky and warm. Blood. He grunted and strained to look across the road. Mangled. Twisted. His bike. Him.<\/p>\n

Why couldn\u2019t God just let him die? Humanity would be one up, and he wouldn\u2019t have to face his consummate failures in life. \u201cJust let me go!\u201d he growled and pounded a fist against the pavement. He\u2019d do anything to go back to the Middle East, pump some radicals full of lead, and unleash the demon inside. Anything that told him he still had purpose in life.<\/p>\n

But that wasn\u2019t an option anymore. Another bad choice. Could he get anything right? Maybe his father had been right to up and leave them. Just like his mother.<\/p>\n

A glimmer of light snagged his attention. Less than a mile down the road, a black SUV barreled up the road from town. Max tensed. He\u2019d seen a vehicle like that three times in the last week. But out here? In the middle of nowhere, invading his self-inflicted punishment? This wasn\u2019t a coincidence. And he didn\u2019t like being hunted.<\/p>\n

Max dragged himself into the trees, wincing. Using his forearm, he wiped the blood from his face. Why? Why couldn\u2019t he just die? Nothing here for him. No reason.<\/p>\n

Sydney. . .<\/p>\n

He banged the back of his head against the tree. Pain drove through him like an iron rod. Good. It felt good to hurt. A relief to the agony inside.<\/p>\n

Glass popping and crunching snapped his attention to the road. The SUV sat like a giant spider. He wondered who was in the vehicle as he eased farther into the foliage. A carpet of pine needles concealed his steps. He glanced back to the intruder.<\/p>\n

The SUV shifted as a man climbed out. Large, African American, and an expression that said he didn\u2019t mess around. Whatever the guy wanted, he wouldn\u2019t take no for an answer. At least not easily.<\/p>\n

Even from ten yards away, Max could see the muscle twitching in the man\u2019s jaw. He swallowed and licked his lips, readying himself for a confrontation. He swung back and gazed up at the canopy of leaves. Could he hoof it back to his apartment? Gathering his strength, he shrugged out of the shredded leather jacket, wincing and grunting as it pulled against raw flesh.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou through? Or you want another go at it?\u201d<\/p>\n

What? Max peered around the trunk, surprised to find the man at the edge of the road, hands on his hips as he stared into the trees.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe took you for stronger.\u201d The man glanced back at the bike. \u201cBut maybe you\u2019re nothing but broke and no use to no one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Heart thumping, Max jerked back and clenched his teeth. Who was this joker?<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, what\u2019s it going to be, Jacobs? You ready to face a little reality?\u201d<\/p>\n

How does he know my name? \u201cWho are you?\u201d Max hissed as the tree rubbed his raw shoulder. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou.\u201d<\/p>\n

Max drew the SOG knife from his pocket and opened it. Holding it down, he pushed into the open, making sure his injuries didn\u2019t show him weak. \u201cWhat\u2019s the game?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man\u2019s eyebrow arched. He angled his left shoulder forward, tugged up his sweater\u2019s sleeve, and flexed his oversized bicep. A tattoo expanded across his muscle. Marine. Force Recon, if Max made out the symbol correctly.<\/p>\n

An ally? As he struggled out of the ditch and back onto the road, Max collapsed the blade. Heat rose from the cement, aggravating the exposed flesh on his back and legs.<\/p>\n

\u201cNavy and Marines, you and me. Almost brothers. It\u2019s the Rangers I don\u2019t like. So, I forgive you for coming at me with a blade. This time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Max stared. Confusion\u2014and pain\u2014wrapped a tight vise around his skull.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s it going to be, squid?\u201d The guy pointed to the wreck of a bike on the road. \u201cYou don\u2019t have a ride back to town. So why don\u2019t you climb in and listen to what I have to say?\u201d<\/p>\n

Might ignore the nickname jab, but the guy assumed too much. \u201cYou flash a tattoo and think I\u2019ll just bend my knee? I don\u2019t think so.\u201d A silent brotherhood had closed Max\u2019s knife. But he didn\u2019t want company. The oaf\u2019s or anyone else\u2019s. But how else would he get home?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? You think you\u2019re going home? To your can opener and mattress?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Recon had a point. Still, he knew too much, and that made Max stiffen\u2014fiery shards prickling his back.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo obligation. Show me a little respect, and just hear me out.\u201d<\/p>\n

At least, as the man had said, he\u2019d have a ride. Eyes on the large man, Max pocketed the knife as he trudged to the other side of the SUV and opened the door.<\/p>\n

He paused at the plastic covering the seat. He jerked his gaze to the driver.<\/p>\n

Mr. Force Recon grinned. \u201cYou\u2019re predictable, Jacobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Max lowered himself onto the seat, cringing as new fire crawled over his back and legs. He buckled in, the irony of the seat belt crossing his mind. \u201cSo what\u2019s this about? Why have you been following me?\u201d<\/p>\n

A crisp cologne swirled in the air-conditioned interior as Mr. Recon folded himself behind the steering wheel. \u201cYou\u2019ve been recruited, Lieutenant Jacobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Max snorted. \u201cAlready did my time. I\u2019m out.\u201d He gulped against the flurry of emotions within.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah? How\u2019s that working out for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Glaring, Max resisted the urge to thrust his SOG into the guy\u2019s gut. He\u2019d left the service for Sydney. Only it\u2019d been too late. And in one fell swoop, he lost everything. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell me? You seem to know everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Recon pursed his lips and nodded. \u201cOkay.\u201d He rubbed his jaw. \u201cYou were discharged ninety days ago. In that time, you\u2019ve been arrested twice, once for fighting. The second time\u2014less than three days ago\u2014for assault against your now-estranged wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

The words cut deeper and stung worse than his now-oozing flesh. Max looked at his hand and flexed his fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cYesterday you were hit with a permanent protective order by said wife. She filed for separation.\u201d He leaned on the console and again arched that eyebrow. \u201cHow am I doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you knew anything about me, you\u2019d dull your edge.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wrist hooked over the steering wheel, Mr. Recon continued unfazed. \u201cThe military discharged you. Honorably. A veteran of two wars. Untold combat situations and medals. They tried to put you out medically two years ago, but you fought it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd won.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYessir.\u201d The man nodded for several seconds. \u201cSo, why now? Why\u2019d you let them put you out this time?\u201d<\/p>\n

Max shoved his gaze to the heavily tinted windows. That was a story nobody needed to hear. Bury it six feet under and walk away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a discarded hero, Lieutenant Jacobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Head whipped back to the driver, Max fought the urge to light into the guy. But something in the amused eyes betrayed a camaraderie. An understanding. Acceptance.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are you? What\u2019s your story?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cName\u2019s Griffin.\u201d He bobbed his head as they pulled onto the highway, driving east toward the Potomac. \u201cMy story. . . ?\u201d A toothy grin. \u201cLet\u2019s just say I got smart.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sound of crinkling and rustling plastic pervaded the cabin as Max shifted to alleviate a pinprick fire shooting down his leg. He hissed and clamped a hand over his thigh. \u201cSo, what\u2019s the gig?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe gig is whatever nobody else will do. What you should ask about is our group\u2014and I do mean our group, Lieutenant. Because you are fully a part of this. Are you ready to step out of the medical trappings of your discharge, of the devastation that has become your life since you\u2019ve returned from your last tour?\u201d<\/p>\n

Max grunted. \u201cYesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I like to hear.\u201d Tires thumped over docks as Griffin steered into a warehouse. \u201cThen this is where it starts.\u201d<\/p>\n

Elite soldiers stood in a semicircle, waiting. For what, Max wasn\u2019t sure. And he wouldn\u2019t ask. If his guess was right, then time would tell\u2014because Griffin seemed to be the guy in the know, and his relaxed posture against the SUV said things were going according to plan.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, dude, want me to look those over?\u201d A blond guy dressed in khaki shorts, a faded tank, and a pair of flip-flops motioned to Max\u2019s scrapes and lacerations.<\/p>\n

Right. Beach bum wanted to play nurse. \u201cI\u2019m good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout as good as a dog in a meat grinder,\u201d the guy replied.<\/p>\n

Max clenched his teeth. Whatever kind of circus Griffin was running. . .<\/p>\n

A diesel engine growled, the sound reverberating off the aluminum in the cavernous space, preempting the shiny blue dualie truck pulling into the dank building. The engine cut. A guy stepped out and donned a black cowboy hat that added about five inches to his six-foot-two frame.<\/p>\n

Griffin\u2019s laugh rumbled as he pushed off his SUV. \u201cColton.\u201d<\/p>\n

A broad grin spilled under the rim of the man\u2019s Stetson. \u201cHey.\u201d The two clasped hands and patted backs. \u201cHow\u2019s Dante?\u201d<\/p>\n

A quiet dialogue carried between the two for several minutes that effectively cut out the rest of those gathered. Yeah, they had a friendship, one that said they trusted each other with more than superficial things. Something about the tight bond rankled Max. Hit deep.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are we here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Max\u2019s gaze bounced to the shortest and youngest of the six men in the building. The Kid had read his thoughts. A warehouse full of warriors? This setup smelled rotten.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019ll be patient\u2014\u201d Griffin paused and glanced behind him. \u201cI think it\u2019s time.\u201d<\/p>\n

A black Chrysler 300 glided into the middle of the grouping. The hollow clunk of an opening door echoed off the steel rafters and grime-laden windows. A man emerged. White hair feathered back. A sun-bronzed nose sported dark-tinted sunglasses. The thud of the door almost swallowed the crunching of his squeaky shoes. New, expensive shoes. Maybe even tailor-made. He gripped the rim of his glasses and drew them off.<\/p>\n

Was the old man supposed to mean something? Be someone who mattered? Irritation skittered along Max\u2019s shoulders as the old man shook hands with Riddell and the cowboy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the hoo-hah?\u201d Max mumbled to himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou kidding me, man?\u201d The blond look at him and smirked. \u201cThat\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor those not enlightened,\u201d an authoritative voice cut through the surfer\u2019s explanation, \u201cmy name is General Olin Lambert. I am a member of the Joint Chiefs. But among the seven of us, I am merely a citizen of the United States just like you.\u201d Blue eyes probed each man.<\/p>\n

Right into Max\u2019s soul.<\/p>\n

\u201cWith Mr. Riddell\u2019s help, I\u2019ve hand-chosen each and every one of you for a very specific purpose. There isn\u2019t anything about you or your lives that I don\u2019t know.\u201d Lambert paused, as if to let his words sink in, but Max just wished he\u2019d get on with it. Scabs were forming on his scrapes.<\/p>\n

\u201cChosen us for what, ese?\u201d asked the Hispanic man.<\/p>\n

\u201cA black ops team.\u201d<\/p>\n

And that meant two things: military and that this meeting was over. Max turned and started walking.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not military, Mr. Jacobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hesitation held him at the large, garage-style door he\u2019d entered. \u201cHow can you do black ops without military aid, intelligence, and backup?\u201d He turned around, ignoring what felt like glass stuck to his calves and thighs.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t say we wouldn\u2019t have aid or intelligence.\u201d Creases pinched Lambert\u2019s eyes at the corners. \u201cI said it\u2019s not military.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome again?\u201d the beach bum asked, disbelief coloring his words.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet the general explain.\u201d Griffin leaned back against the truck with his cowboy buddy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Mr. Riddell.\u201d Lambert tucked his sunglasses in his left breast pocket, then threaded his fingers in front of him. Impressive and commanding. \u201cEach of you has returned from combat changed, affected.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nervous glances skidded from man to man. Max glued his attention to the general, refusing to acknowledge the truth of Lambert\u2019s words.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re what I\u2019ve dubbed discarded heroes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grunts of approval rang through the building, and the group seemed to tighten in around the old man. Being a general, he knew what it was like to have slanted glances of pity from those who knew where you\u2019d been, what you\u2019d probably done, and what it was like to go against a politically correct ideology and fight for freedom on foreign soil. Or to have some tree hugger spit in your face and call you a murderer.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou served your time, saw and experienced things no normal person would be expected to deal with. Sure, you were trained. Taught to expect evil. Demanded success. However, when confronted with the true terrors of war, no human mind can dissolve the images embedded in memory for all time.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen it\u2019s time to get out. They yank you back here, give you a once-over, and toss you out with a \u2018thank you very much and have a good life.\u2019 So you go home, try to reintegrate into society, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s screwed up,\u201d the Kid said. He shrugged when the others scowled at him. \u201cWell? I\u2019m right, aren\u2019t I? From what I heard you saying earlier,\u201d he pointed to the beach bum, \u201cyou\u2019ve spent time in Afghanistan\u2014a lot.\u201d Then to the Latino, \u201cYou probably did your tours of duty in Panama or the like.\u201d His gaze came to Max.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d Fists balled, Max willed his feet to remain in place. He didn\u2019t want anyone digging in his brain.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Vaughn is correct,\u201d Lambert said. \u201cYou\u2019ve all seen combat. You\u2019ve all been trained to kill; then you come back, and what do you do with those skills but go out of your mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

Max shifted. Was it over yet? He eyed the wide-open berth to freedom behind the blue dualie.<\/p>\n

\u201cMax Jacobs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hearing his name felt like a detonation that blasted his attention back to the general.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou served eight years with the SEALs. Your experience in command and combat no doubt left indelible scars. Watched your best friend toss himself on a grenade to save the team.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bile pooled at the back of Max\u2019s throat as the memory surged. He flared his nostrils, pushing the images back into the pit from which they\u2019d been drawn.<\/p>\n

Lambert stalked the inner perimeter, as if prepping troops for war with a pep talk. \u201cLieutenant Jacobs is the man I\u2019ve chosen as team leader, but his position is no more valuable than anyone else\u2019s. You\u2019ve all seen war. In this building are years of tactical experience. Incredible wisdom. And one element that makes each of you vital for this to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d Cowboy asked, his arms folded over his thick chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cLoyalty, Mr. Neeley. Your duty with the Marine Special Operations Team is bloated with exemplary conduct, commendation after commendation.\u201d He waved his hand around the cozy circle. \u201cI\u2019ve reviewed all of your files and found the same thing in every one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Awkward silence cooled some of the tension in the room, and once again Max eyed the exit.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Reyes, your career as a pararescue jumper, specifically your medic skills, saved dozens of lives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPair o\u2019 what?\u201d Cowboy taunted.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d Reyes grinned. \u201cYou\u2019re just jealous. I\u2019m a PJ. Why you think they call me Fix?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you put everyone in one?\u201d Griffin chuckled, eliciting more laughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, man. It\u2019s \u2019cause of this,\u201d he said as he drew out a crucifix from his shirt and kissed it. \u201cMy crucifix. They called me Cru at first, then since I\u2019m a medic, they started calling me Fix.\u201d<\/p>\n

Swallowing his groan, Max ran a hand through his short crop. Religion and military. This was starting to feel worse than an AA meeting. And there wasn\u2019t a point. \u201cThis is a lot of flowery, moving discourse, but what do you want from us?\u201d Max mentally shook off the way the others looked at him. Was he the only one who was still waiting for the boom to lower?<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Riddell, if you please.\u201d Lambert pointed to the black SUV as Griffin opened the tailgate. \u201cGive each man one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Griffin handed out small black packs that bore a lone symbol. A strange star backed by a sword and wings. The Kid, the Beach Bum, and the Latino dug into the packs, almost excited. In seconds, a black phone, keys, a watch, and a set of duds spilled across the gray cement floor in front of them.<\/p>\n

Max remained in place, his pack dangling from his clenched fist. He didn\u2019t like being played. And this definitely felt like a setup.<\/p>\n

General Lambert faced him. \u201cIs there a problem, Mr. Jacobs?\u201d<\/p>\n

He dropped his pack onto the floor. \u201cNot seeing the point.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind the general, Griffin seemed to grow several inches as he towered over the aged officer. \u201cWhat?\u201d he growled. \u201cYou want to take another nose-dive off that hill? Hope this time there\u2019s only enough of you left to fill a baggie? Want to make that estranged wife of yours a widow before you can be called a failure?\u201d<\/p>\n

Hands coiled, Max drew up his shoulders. Saw red. No. No. He wouldn\u2019t give in to the goading. He dragged his attention back to the general.<\/p>\n

\u201cEase up, Legend,\u201d Cowboy said, patting Griffin\u2019s chest. \u201cGive the guy a chance.\u201d Lambert remained unwavering. \u201cThe point, Lieutenant, is to establish a team that can penetrate hostile situations without any entanglements, without any blame on the good ol\u2019 US-of-A or any other entity or government. You returned from two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan, and a covert mission nobody in this room will ever know about. You were the best, a natural, your CO said. But you were so volatile after those experiences took their toll they tried to discharge you, and your compatriots nicknamed you after a volatile chemical. Somehow you held it together. Then jumped ship out of the blue.\u201d More than recitation of information lurked behind the general\u2019s blue eyes. A knowing\u2014no, an understanding, quiet and unnerving. \u201cTell me, Mr. Jacobs, what are you doing with your life now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMinding my own business,\u201d Max answered through tight lips.<\/p>\n

Lambert laughed. \u201cAnd that\u2019s exactly what you\u2019ll be doing as part of my team. Funding isn\u2019t a problem. You\u2019ll have unlimited resources.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019d be a change,\u201d the Kid grumbled.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo go where?\u201d the Beach Bum asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t matter,\u201d the Kid interrupted. \u201cMan, how is this any different than military? Igot out for a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll go wherever needed.\u201d The general turned toward the younger man. \u201cYes, Mr. Vaughn, you did get out for a reason. Tell me, did abandoning the one thing you loved the most give you the love of your father after all?\u201d<\/p>\n

The Kid paled.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d Max couldn\u2019t stand it anymore. \u201cWhy are you doing this? What\u2019s this thing to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lambert lowered his head then looked back at Max. \u201cI am. . .discarded just like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBull.\u201d Max tucked his hands under his arms. \u201cYou sit in a cushy chair in a carpeted office. You\u2019re paid, you\u2019re connected\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what you guys have been through.\u201d The general tapped his temple. \u201cMAC-V SOG in Nam. Two tours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Max\u2019s eyebrows shot up. That meant the man before him had likely seen more carnage than the rest of them put together.<\/p>\n

\u201cHeard the phrase \u2018peace with honor\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

Max shrugged. \u201cYeah, sure. Who hasn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a platitude.\u201d Lambert\u2019s eyes flamed under his passion. \u201cThe armchair generals lost the war, not the grunts on the ground. We won every battle they let us win. But that doesn\u2019t make it any easier when you\u2019re the only guy who comes home from your unit with all his parts and pieces still connected where God put \u2019em.<\/p>\n

\u201cI may not be young, I may not have done combat tours in Iraq like you, Lieutenant, but I was tossed aside, too. For years I languished.\u201d The general pushed to his feet, his voice thick and his eyes weighted by the story. \u201cBut I slowly remembered that I\u2019d joined the military for a reason\u2014I wanted to be a man. A real man willing to defend my country with life and limb. I knew then I could screw up my career or I could do my best to make a difference in the lives of those who came after.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence hung rank and thick in the abandoned warehouse. Something akin to admiration leaked past Max\u2019s barriers as he watched the indignant rise and fall of the old man\u2019s chest. A smile threatened his resolve as the old man glared at the hulking men around him.<\/p>\n

Lambert\u2019s lips tightened over a clean-shaven jaw. \u201cWhat\u2019s it going to be, gentlemen? Do you have what it takes to finish the fight with the gift God gave you? Or are you going to turn tail, accept what the government stamped on your papers, and leave\u2014go quietly into the night?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa-hoa!\u201d Laughing, Beach Bum stepped forward. \u201cOld Man\u2019s got some fire under that shiny dome.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lambert spun toward the bum. \u201cWhat\u2019s it going to be, Sergeant Metcalfe?\u201d<\/p>\n

The blond pursed his lips, considered Lambert, then nodded. \u201cI\u2019m in.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bright blue eyes shifted to the Latino.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need some CPR, ese? You look worked up.\u201d<\/p>\n

A half smile slid into Lambert\u2019s face. \u201cA little passion never hurt, eh, Mr. Reyes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou all right, old man.\u201d He hooked Lambert\u2019s hand and patted his back. \u201cYou all right.\u201d Reyes leaned in toward the general\u2019s shoulders and looked at the Kid. \u201cBut I don\u2019t know about this kid. He don\u2019t look like he\u2019s out of diapers yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s wrong. That\u2019s just wrong.\u201d The Kid\u2019s face flushed. \u201cI spent six years in the Rangers. I have enough\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRangers.\u201d Max couldn\u2019t help but grunt his disapproval. \u201cThat explains a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Kid\u2019s chin jerked up in defiance. \u201cI\u2019m in.\u201d<\/p>\n

It seemed Lambert grew with each affirmation. He shifted to the cowboy. \u201cMr. Neeley?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cowboy gave a slow, firm nod, his hat shading his eyes. \u201cI\u2019m ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lambert smiled. \u201cGood. Good.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were all crazy. Joining a group like this meant more problems. \u201cWhat if we get in trouble out there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen get out of trouble,\u201d Lambert said. \u201cUnderstand that this team does not exist. If anyone comes looking, there will be nothing to find. Only one man besides those of us in this facility knows it exists, and he\u2019ll pay the highest cost if that confidence is broken. No one\u2014and I mean no one\u2014will know your names.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo our orders are coming from on high?\u201d Metcalfe asked.<\/p>\n

A twinkle brightened Lambert\u2019s eyes and gave silent assent to the question, although he gave no answer. Instead, he continued. \u201cAny mission, any activity will be utterly and completely disavowed by the United States. You will be disavowed. If you get into trouble, Mr. Jacobs, count on your ingenuity to get out. If you are killed, no one will know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr care.\u201d The Kid shrugged, a sick smirk in his face.<\/p>\n

Max wanted to punch him.<\/p>\n

\u201cOr maybe that\u2019s where Sergeant Metcalfe, call sign Midas, will come in with his golden touch.\u201d Lambert ambled toward him.<\/p>\n

The beach bum made a tss noise and shook his head. \u201cNothing golden, just hard work.\u201d<\/p>\n

The general\u2019s smile disappeared behind a stern facade. \u201cWhat is your answer, Lieutenant Jacobs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is crazy.\u201d What else could he do? Flip burgers at the nearest fast food? What was worth staying here for? No wife. No family. \u201cFine.\u201d The separation papers told him he had nothing left here anyway. \u201cI\u2019m in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d General Lambert\u2019s smile softened his commando persona. \u201cLook around. The men here are your new brothers, your family. Only they will understand when the horrors of war invade your sleep. Only they will be there when you\u2019re pinned down and need an extraction.<\/p>\n

Arms wide, Lambert smiled like a proud father. \u201cGentlemen, welcome to Nightshade.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

MY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

I will review Nightshade<\/a> in a future post on July 26.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[37,8,60,47,33],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5231","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-adventure","category-books","category-contemporary-fiction","category-military","category-suspense"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5231"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5231"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5231\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5236,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5231\/revisions\/5236"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5231"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5231"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5231"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}